


An Illicit Affair

by Lathbora_viran



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Orlais - Fandom, Tevinter - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Cheating, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lathbora_viran/pseuds/Lathbora_viran
Summary: I finished reading Stolen Throne and the love quadrilateral in it sort of spawned this idea. Affairs, duty, and unhappy endings while still being tragically noble.An Orlesian slave in Minrathous, a man in a marriage of duty. The dance of politics in the heart of Imperial Tevinter and the inescapable nature of expectations in the Magisterium. Hard decisions must be made unless someone willing to break years tradition and cause scandal steps in.





	An Illicit Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for helping me hit 300 views on my first story. I never expected even that much attention and it is greatly appreciated. Let alone the kudos and bookmarks!

**9:10 Dragon; Minrathous**

Calculating grey eyes observed the girl before him emotionlessly. She was slight, an acceptable height for her age, wreathed in hair so blonde it was nearly white and blessed with eyes as green as the Fade. Given a few years, she would be a quiet beauty. Her confidence was lacking in the moment, her hands twisting together at her waist and her head ducked, shoulders set defensively but an angry glint turning her eyes to fire behind the fear.

“Well?” The merchant standing at her shoulder folded his arms across his chest impatiently. “She’s only thirteen but she has proven herself a quick learner and she prides herself in completing things ably.”

Gloved fingers tapped rhythmically upon the desk for a moment before he rose to his feet and made his way around the obstacle. These uncouth southern masses called the average Magister a monster, yet this man stood before him ready to sell his own daughter. It took effort to keep the disgust from his face. “You were unable to put together the sovereigns to pay off your debt to my household, I presume. So, you bring me this unskilled child and expect it to cover all expenses lost in our transaction?”

Orlesians. The word never left his lips but remained as a bitter taste in his mouth as the overly fanciful fop nudged the trembling waif forward without a look at her face. “Unskilled but, as stated, she can learn anything you wish of her. A blank slate to make into whatever you wish. Such a commodity is rare, is it not? Also, she is my first and only child.”

“That matters not. You obviously have never sold slaves; untrained children are quite frequent. Your debt is…” With a rather annoyed sigh he shifted a page to better read it upon the desk which now was behind him. “One hundred and twelve sovereigns. Children are worth silvers at most. I’m afraid you aren’t selling me on this quite yet.”

Blankly as a fish, the minor noble struggled to find words that might draw himself up to the Magister’s level. With a grimace the Tevinter held up a hand to stop him before he could attempt to make himself look more the fool. “Since you are so clearly out of your depth, my counter offer. I will take this child. You will sign a contract stating that you shall never father another child and your line shall end with you. Such a thing will benefit Thedas overall since as a parent and a merchant you have proved sorely lacking. Do this and I will forgive the full debt.”

If shock had made the man speechless before behind that abominable mask, he was cowed even more now. To end his entire family line. “Or I can take your life. If you chose the former I could perhaps be persuaded to nullify the contract for an appropriate price. You would have to do far better at your profession to be able to afford it however.”

Frustrated and possibly afraid, the merchant threw his hands up. “Fine, alright. Make no mistake I will be back to nullify this once I have had the time to grow my house’s financial stability. Write up your contract and I will sign it.”

Seemingly forgotten, the girl-child simply stood as a statue between the older men who towered above her. She startled when a hand clothed in the finest pale leather appeared before her face, flinching back toward her father instinctively. He pushed her forward instead and all colour left her small face as she turned to watch him leave. There was no surprise on that countenance but the pain could not be hidden regardless. Swallowing hard, she returned her gaze to the hand and then raised it to the stranger’s face.

Waiting for the merchant to step out of the room, the Magister took the girl’s hand and crouched down so that his unreadable eyes were level with her own glistening ones. “I am Magister Athanir Tilani. What name were you given, child? You have no need to fear here, a slave you may be but you shall be treated well.”

“Clarisse, sir.” It was the first thing she had spoken since her arrival, her voice clear but withdrawn. She had a strength to her that the Magister doubted she had been born with, at least in its entirety. In another life, with more support, she could have been a delicate belle without a single sad thought but with a talent for art and a bevy of amoral noble’s sons trying to peer beneath a whimsical mask.

Sighing, he rose to his feet and rested a hand on her shoulder to escort her out of the room. “Clarisse, the lot you have been dealt was unfair. I hope, despite the nature of your role here and the manner of your arrival, that this life will be kinder to you.”

**9:16 Dragon; Qarinus**

“Bright silver were his helm and chain, bright silver on his horse's rein; He rode upon the golden plain, the brave and comely knight. The elves stood fast, their banners high. They would not flee, they would not fly, though knowing they would surely die, the last of Dalish might.”

Clarisse took a simple joy from the way the shining tiles echoed her words back to her and left them lingering in the chilly air of the garden atrium. Though untrained, the clarity of her voice held such purity that most who came across her when she happened to be singing would go to great lengths not to disturb her so that they might keep listening.

Anger might have given the girl her voice, but the more she used it the less the rage could touch her. Clarisse had taught herself to sing under the impression that when her father returned she could hurt him as much as he had hurt her. If he hadn’t regretted selling her before, perhaps he would regret the sovereigns he could have made with her singing.

As months had passed into years and he showed no sign of himself, the girl had grown nearly adult with a reserved but happy air that put those who worked with her at ease with no effort on her own part. The Tilani household was hardly a hardship to work for, either, being well known for the gentle personality of its Magister.

“He met them on the golden field, the fate of elvenkind now sealed, in mercy, urged them all to yield, he sorrowed for their plight. But prideful were the Dalish kin, their vengeful hearts could not give in, with raging cry and dreadful grin, they struck against the Light.”

“Child, I apologise for interrupting your work but I have a question for you.” Magister Tilani’s resonant voice halted her singing but the sight that met her eyes as she turned around to face the man halted her heart. Her father stood at his left. The sponge dropped from her hand to land wetly next to her slippered foot. There was no recognition on his face as he looked around the room, his frustration evident. “This man wishes to nullify a contract with myself however I neglected to set a price. What would you deem appropriate?”

Irritation flashed and the bejewelled merchant spun on the Magister, his teeth obviously gritted from even such a distance. “That is why you dragged me out here? To ask a slave about matters of business? I had not thought that was how you Tevinter mages conducted affairs.”

Oh, this was rich. “Price?” Clarisse stooped briefly to pick up her sponge and drop it in the soapy water it had barely missed in its fall. “One hundred and twelve sovereigns and I make his choices for the rest of his life including when he weds and who.”

Taken aback by the oddly exact statement, the Orlesian scowled, “I will not allow some slave to…” Eyes widening, he took a step forward and then held out his hands with a beaming smile. “Clarisse, I see it now. A jest to get back at me surely, but come now in all seriousness. I may even have enough to buy you back, if he is letting you make this decision let us make it a reasonable one.”

“Reasonable? Buy me back?” Athanir had to hide a smile as he watched her hackles rise, petite hands clenching into fists. “Five thousand sovereigns and a vial of your own blood is what it will take to nullify that contract.”

Silence descended for several moments as both Master and slave watched the Orlesian alternate from white to red to grey before settling on a visage of sickly anger. “That is highly uncalled for. Such an amount would leave me nearly destitute again and I would never leave my blood in the hands of Magisters.”

“Then I do believe our business is concluded. Allow my Templars to show you to the door.” The Magister smiled politely as he waved two armoured Templars forward from where they had loitered in a nearby doorway. “We will detain you no longer from your work, Clarisse.” He nodded to her and the group left her to journey down the hallway toward the front entrance. A single rising voice could be heard protesting viciously for several minutes before quite once more graced the halls.

Picking up her pail, the girl shook her head with a revolted grimace on her normally content features and left the room. Instead she ventured into the guest rooms and began cleaning the dust from a set of marble pillars. Where had she been at in her song? Oh… right.

A single breath was drawn in and she did her best to release her rage on its exhale, refocusing on both task and song to the exclusion of the world about her.

“Beneath the red and fading sun, the elven stand was swift undone, 'til they were vanquished, all but one: defiant in her fight. Her brothers on the field lay slain, he would not see her die in vain, in grief, cried "Yield!" to her again, that good and gentle knight. He could not strike; his shield dropped low, she lifted sword against her foe, they did not see the far-off bow, its arrow loosed in flight. A sharpened thorn, a searing brand, a shot the elf could not withstand; the sword fell lifeless from her hand, with drops of crimson bright.”

The slow ballad eased the tightness in her chest, distant eyes seeing the long-ago battlefield upon the white stone she cleaned. As the pillars were completed she let her hand and tool slip to the floor and clean it for a while as well.

“He said no word, he made no sound, but caught her, falling to the ground. Her dark hair flowing, all unbound: a veil as black as night. And up around him came the call, that celebrated Dalish fall, the cry of vic'try came from all, except the silver knight. The glimmer of his helm and chain, now dull with dark and bloody stain. He looked and saw upon the plain, the dying elven light. Elf sword in hand, heart filled with woe, no one would ever see him go, but with a solemn prayer, spoke low, he vanished into night. They say he rode on easterly, the sword he placed beneath a tree. And there remained, on bended knee, that grave and mournful knight.”

The solitude and half an hour of peace gave her back her own sense of harmony. The man was gone and would trouble her no further, she had come to an accord with the Magister years ago about her place in his household. It was gradually even a relief to realise that she would never have to wear overly ridiculous dresses and entertain people as ignorant as her father at balls that she now imagined would not have suited her at all.

A light cough nearly wrenched a cry from her, though she did stumble from her crouch to sit on the floor. Wide eyes met an apologetic smile, a careful hand touching her shoulder as the stranger came close to make sure she fell no further. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I… was curious about your song. I had not heard it before. Nor was I certain of how to start the conversation.”

Maker. The man was clearly Tevinter but younger than many she had met so far. He had hair as dark as night and eyes so rich a brown they were near black but full of warmth and sadness. “The song?”

“Ah, yes. I had made a study of the history of Thedas but I couldn’t decide which event it spoke of in its lyrics.” He cleared his throat almost awkwardly and held out both hands to take hers and lift her from the floor. This close she had to tilt her head back slightly to meet his gaze. “You make such a lament strike the soul, your tone is quite beautiful, my lady.”

Clarisse took her hands back and ducked her head at the sudden flush which coloured her cheeks, “I am no lady, my Lord. I am Clarisse, a slave here in Magister Tilani’s household. My apologies for the confusion.” Nervously she dried her hands on the hem of her apron, trying to gather herself again. “The song refers to the Exalted March of the Dales, my Lord. The Knight in question is Ser Brandis, the Silver Helm, and his disappearance with the sword Evanura after the Dales were defeated.”

“Forgive me, but regardless of your position, you are far more a lady than many I have in my acquaintance. I will simply call you Clarisse, however, if such a term makes you uncomfortable. Do you know many songs then?” He stepped back slightly as if suddenly noticing how strange the situation might appear.

“A few from Orlais. My Lord, what should I call you then?” Glancing up at him again, the air was strangely still as their eyes met.

Powers that be, she was both Soporati and slave but she was far more enchanting than any spell he had encountered. Her song from outside his room had enraptured him but he hadn’t expected her took look like an ethereal spirit. Slender and pale as porcelain with bright eyes and white hair, she was in utter contrast to anyone in Tevinter. More elven in fact, though without their narrow features. “Me? Oh. Ma-Marius.”

One thin brow arched abruptly, the agitation leaving her eyes for humour instead. “That is not your real name, is it?”

A weak smile spread across tanned features and, Andraste preserve her, it was adorable. “No. I don’t want to be that other person right now; do you mind terribly?”

After a long hesitation, her shoulders relaxed and she smiled slightly herself. “No, I can understand that much. Should I simply call you Marius, then?”

Barely perceptible until it had lifted, she noticed the absence of his weariness with her question. “I would enjoy that, Clarisse. Have you much more work to complete today? I have things I could do as well but… I would like to hear more of the history of that song later tonight. If it isn’t too much to ask.”

It was just a conversation and a small untruth. He was a noble who wanted to divest himself of his responsibility for a brief time. It couldn’t hurt much, could it? “I could, perhaps. Once. Just to talk.” She found herself responding quietly, their eyes still locked by some strange pull. Was he a mage? Most nobles were here, she had found. Perhaps she should ask the kitchen staff if it was possible that a mage could so turn her mind but… as long as it was harmless she didn’t mind the sensation.

“I shall see you tonight, Miss Clarisse.” He murmured, gently lifting her hand to press the softest hint of a kiss to the back of it. As Marius turned and walked away down the hall she found herself rooted to her spot for a few minutes longer. Nothing felt like responding to her, mind and body happy to remain in the last few moments instead of continuing into a future where all was uncertain. Most uncertain was the path she had just taken one step towards.

**9:21 Dragon; Qarinus**

She shouldn’t think of him as her Marius, he wasn’t even Marius let alone hers. Still, it made her heart feel like flying whenever she heard he was visiting the Tilani household on business again. Her dearest friend was returning and the smile could not be dashed from her face no matter what life threw at her.

There was always the underlying thrill of getting caught and she had no idea how much trouble she would be in. Clarisse had made no effort in so many years to discern his real identity. Marius was who he was to her, a lover of history and a true gentleman.

Athanir had grown reserved as he aged. His wife had passed on leaving him with a son only for a few short years. Now he had a daughter that he doted on and no on in the household questioned it for a second. He adored his sharp-witted girl, Maevaris. She kept them all on their toes and it delighted Clarisse whenever she was tasked with accompanying the Lady of House Tilani.

Her Marius had aged as well, though it did not show outwardly. Instead, while his skin refused to line and no grey could manifest itself within his dark locks, a creeping sadness and exhaustion had darkened his beautiful eyes and weighed his shoulders down. Too proud, he never mentioned it to her even as his hand hesitated ever longer to release hers each time he came and left.

Marius would ever be hers, even if the rest of the world demanded his shadow be something else. While here, she would protect him from everything he ran from.

From the instant she saw him enter the door and be greeted by Magister Tilani with little Maevaris at his knee, and their eyes met across the expanse of the main entrance, she knew something was more wrong than normal. The man was genuinely upset and it made her heart ache. Still, he kept up appearances as were expected and the pair left to talk business. She would have to wait till the evening to figure out what had happened.

Andraste’s ashes… what if they had been discovered and he was coming to tell her it had to end? Even the idea made her scoff at her own ridiculous fantasies. What was there to discover? They talked and sometimes had dinner. He had kissed her hand once in five years. True, they held hands quite often, but as far as she knew none had seen it and it was hardly a crime, was it? Although… she was a slave and he a noble of some sort.

Shaking her head at herself and feeling her smile falter with anxiety, she swallowed back her thoughts and put herself to work instead.

Work came easily and piled up quickly. It was late in the evening when she finally got Maevaris to bed although it took two songs longer to satisfy her than normal. Heart racing, she placed a hand on Marius’ door and listened for a moment longer than she wished to ensure there was silence.

“Marius?” Hesitant still, she pushed the door partway open and slipped through, a careful glance reassuring her that only he was there at his desk.

His eyes made her breath catch in her throat and a hand clutch at her chest, freezing her steps as the torment sent pain racing along her nerves. Never had she seen that look on anyone. Slowly he rose and came around the desk, one hand on its surface as though to brace himself.

“Marius.” The sigh was heartbroken as she slumped, unsure of what to do. He looked so strong and steady but he was falling apart and only she saw it. He only let her see it. The unhappy twist to his lips, the excess weight leaning against the heavy wooden desk. His eyes.

One hand raised uncertainly toward him and a tremor shook his chest. A muscle tightened in his jaw and he was moving towards her with desperation gripping his frame. He took her hand and stepped in even closer, his fingers twining through her own to squeeze it before sliding up her arm to her cheek. The other gripped her hip like a lifeline and his forehead rested against hers and their eyes met. A heartbeat later, shaking lips claimed her own as softly as her own breath but tension was all she felt as her own hands came to a rest on his chest.

After a frozen moment, he closed his eyes tightly and lifted his head but she tightened her fingers in his shirt. It took but a moment longer to find her tongue, not wanting to allow the pain he was in to distance them. “Amatus, wait…”

Shock showed on his face as his eyes flashed open, though he made no further move to leave. His expression softened and his fingers traced her jaw softly, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve picked up some Tevene, you’ve been here half of your life.” Tremulously he lowered his forehead to rest against hers once more. “Do you mean it?”

It had helped, thank the Maker. He didn’t look as tortured, a struggling happiness trying to shine through whatever had hurt him so badly. “I… shouldn’t. We both know I shouldn’t, Marius. But… I do. I mean it. I’ve meant it for years but…”

“Never allowed it. I know. I know we shouldn’t. But… please. Clarisse, just here and now as you and me, I need it. It’s selfish and it will hurt us both but, you’re the only thing that makes this terrible place better.” His words had lost their normal thoughtful precision and his tone grew choked until all she could do to respond was lift onto her toes to cover his explanation with a kiss of her own, trying to communicate her understanding in an action.

His arm slipped around her waist like a vice, a faint sound of pain escaping him as he deepened the kiss of his own accord, trying to lose himself in it. A breath later and her feet could no longer feel the ground but, oh Maker, she could feel the race of his heart against her own chest as he crushed her body to his.

Stumbling, he made it to the door and managed to lock it with a fumbling hand in the dim candle light. Gathering a tiny amount of focus, he waved the same hand and the light vanished without a sound. A gap in the curtains helped the pair make an unsteady effort toward his bed. Her hair was as soft as he had ever imagined as he sank his hands within the long tresses and tilted her head to press a kiss to her bared throat. The shudder that travelled through her made the knot in his chest unravel that much further.

She was stronger than any potion or alcohol he had ever used attempting to save himself. How could such a miracle be wrong? “Amatus.” The word that breathed through her called him back to this world and in a glowing ray of moonlight he could see her smile. It went right to his head, rushing through his veins. In that light, she seemed made of the moon with her pale skin lit by it.

Enchantress, indeed.

Hands sliding from her hair down her back, he dragged the fabric with them. Her own hands kept pace, loosening ties and buttons. “Festis bei umo canavarum…” the words escaped on a groan he tried to resist but could not be embarrassed by. Laying back, he rolled to his right and pulled her beneath him, stifling her sudden giggle with another kiss even as she pulled a broken smile to his lips.

**9:27 Dragon; Minrathous**

The man sucked in a breath as a cold foot brushed against his calf. He chuckled and pulled the woman closer, “Maker, Clarisse, get your feet under the covers or I’ll force socks upon you.” She grinned impishly, although the mischief melted as her Marius nuzzled at her jaw softly.

No, she couldn’t do it now. Not here. Andraste’s bloody flaming sword, she didn’t know if she could do it at all. The very idea, though she knew it must happen, made her chest constrict till she couldn’t breathe. But… people were talking. Noticing. It had been eleven years, six of them far more careless than the rest, she had known it couldn’t go overlooked forever. Magister Tilani had likely known for years, her Marius could only make up so many business deals and friendly conversations before the Magister had realised that he was not the only reason Marius kept so much time at his estates.

Marius himself had grown. His mood swings had balanced out, likely due to the very fact that he had a safe harbour to run to whenever his other life grew too much. Clarisse was overjoyed at the idea that she could have helped her amatus in such a fashion but he was wise enough now to be alright without her, wasn’t he?

The very thought of ending this, even to protect him, was too much to consider right now. No. She would do it later.

“I thought I was the sad sap of the pair of us but you are so quiet today. What is this melancholy for, hm?” With the quiet words, the viscous sludge damming her chest released slowly and her eyes fluttered closed as he added a gentle kiss to her temple.

Clarisse sighed and stretched contentedly, twisting for a moment to face him without breaking the circle of his arms about her. Instead of speaking, she smiled and lightly touched her nose to his, which he wrinkled. “Alright, I’ll let you cute your way out of it this time. Only because I have a suspicion of its nature anyway and… I’d rather not think of it as well.” His voice softened, trailing off for a moment before he shook his head and hefted her against his chest while he rolled to sit up. The wretch laughed when he startled a squeak from her with the sudden cold of the chamber.

“Come on, let us not waste this day moping. It is beautiful outside, and you are beautiful inside and out. If today is going to be what it will be, I will show you off for once. Before you panic, I have a way of ensuring I won’t be recognised, my ever-vigilant tigress. I won’t get in trouble, and I must insist.” He set her down before him with a flourish, eyes glinting briefly before he blinked the hint away and kissed her forehead. “Get dressed, amatus. This will be a glory of a day.”

She had nothing that met the standards of fashion in the Imperium, nor elsewhere to tell the truth, but they were to blend in anyway. Clarisse had simply thrown on the modest brown dress she had worn the day before, yet she felt like the sun was blessing her with its warmth as she walked with her arm wrapped around Marius’. The marketplace was full, no one was paying them a single bit of attention, but the pair were enraptured by each other and needed no one else.

It truly was a glorious day that would not be wasted. As they wandered the market he had chosen a light meal and she carried it in a basket he had requested that she bring. The aged glories of Minrathous spiralled to the heavens even as older statues and spires crumbled back toward the ground. Marius had led her to a garden off the beaten paths where they had spent most of the day talking and laughing.

Clarisse had rested back against his chest, staring up at the sky as twilight began to descend, her fingers entwined with his. “Amatus.”

“Hmm?” His voice dozy with contentment, he picked his head up and instinctively his arms wrapped around her.

“Do you know a spell to freeze time?”

A low sigh escaped, brushing past her ear, his hold tightening. “Sadly… Don’t think I haven’t tried, however. No end would make me happier than to stop in this moment here with you. Are you… certain? We could find a way, be more careful…”

Gentle fingers touched his lips and he swallowed back a sudden burn in his throat, “It’ll be okay, Amatus. In time.” Maybe. “Think of how stressed you will be trying to fit me in and never knowing if it will work or if it will be the final time before you are caught. Maybe it would be worth it but I couldn’t bare it if I ruined you. We’ve had so much time together… More than many.”

Her Marius had carried her over the threshold into his room, his cheek resting against her hair. Both fighting tears, he had smiled weakly and settled her onto his bed. “One last night, Amatus. I’ll be gone when you wake and it can end as well as the best of dreams. One you always wish to return to. I know I will.”

He had kissed her so gently that it eroded her control of her tears, then he had kissed those away.

In the morning, she woke to an empty bed and cried until the young Maevaris had come to find her when she was late for chores. The shocked girl had held her close and rocked her as her heart broke.

**9:32 Dragon; Qarinus**

“Maevaris, you look splendid and terrifying. I assure you all shall heed your passing.” A small smile twisted pale lips as the servant helped her dear Maevaris put her hair up for the ball. The Tilani household had been invited along with several prominent members of the Magisterium, including the Alexius family, to attend the soiree thrown by the Lady of House Pavus. When she had turned fifteen, Maevaris had made it abundantly clear that being a woman was not simply a misunderstanding and that she, with her father’s support, would accept no grief from the Magisterium about her decision. A few years later, there were still moments of contention.

“Clarisse, you say such nice things. I think you should come, father’s been looking distracted and weary of late. You could attend him. Oh, I have a fantastic dress that would look lovely on you.” The young woman arched a fine eyebrow and glanced over her shoulder carefully at her confidante, making sure not to throw off her braiding.

Clarisse chuckled and shook her head, “I’m a slave. If Magister Tilani wishes to be attended he will bring me but I shouldn’t be so fancy. People will think I’ve forgotten my place.”

Maevaris would have none of it, and she told Clarisse so right before she had approached her father and suggested the very same thing. Green eyes narrowed on the pair suddenly when he very patiently agreed with Maevaris’ plan. Often, he doted on his daughter and gave her whatever she wished but something set fire to her suspicions about the plotting Tevinter duo.

Whisked away, Clarisse sighed and allowed Maevaris to dress her in a silken gown of an emerald green. Sitting herself, she watched in a golden mirror as Maevaris twined her hair up and threaded its silver strands with green lace. “What are you up to, Maevaris?”

“Such distrust. You’ve helped raise me, I just want you to look nice when we go out. It isn’t a crime.”

“And you aren’t a mastermind politician’s daughter and heir?”

“Of course not. He isn’t the mastermind, I am. He’s too nice to be a mastermind.”

The carriage ride from house to house was short and uneventful. Templars aided Athanir and Maevaris in their stately descent while Clarisse slowly followed. She had no idea how to walk in the shoes Maevaris had given her. In thirty-five years, she had always gone barefoot or slippered, but these dainty things had points and the girl had claimed them highly fashionable.

It took her several moments to catch up to the Tilani family and, even then, she stared at her feet in a mixture of anxieties stemming from the unfamiliar surroundings and these devilish traps on her feet. Far too many things held the potential to go wrong and she did not want to shame the family who had raised her so kindly.

Maevaris spoke to her and Clarisse glanced up but the words were lost in a roaring in her ears as her heart stopped. It was not the girl’s eyes she met, but rich brown ones with a weary sadness that made her drown.

Marius stood near the doorway greeting guests but he had frozen as well when they had seen each other. He recovered far faster, however, shaking the hand of the woman who entered before them and turning to Magister Tilani.

A young man about Maevaris’ age stood at Marius’ side and his own eyes narrowed thoughtfully, glancing back and forth between the two. Were it not for the grey in Marius’ hair they could have been brothers. It must be his son.

“Magister Tilani, a pleasure. I am so glad you managed to attend, Maevaris looks lovely.” Marius took Athanir by the hand and shook it but there was a tightness to his grip and a faint frown as he leaned in and the pair spoke quietly.

They parted but, while Marius still looked perplexed, Athanir simply smiled and nodded to him, “Magister Pavus, it is always a pleasure to be invited into your home. I hear Dorian has been flourishing with Magister Alexius this past year? You must be proud.”

Dark eyes kept flashing to meet hers, but she still couldn’t move. Five years of tamped down pain all surged back at once and left her immobile as her eyes drank in his face. Halward Pavus was Marius. Her Marius. She wished she had never learned it. It only served to remind her just how impossible it would have been for her to keep him. What he stood to lose if people knew he had an affair with an Orlesian slave. He wanted to speak to her, that much was obvious in the way he couldn’t pull his focus from her, but that was out of the question here and now.

His son had figured it out, she could tell that as well with the way his eyes flashed annoyance and understanding at once only to fade and be hidden behind a mask of a sarcastic grin while he responded to Magister Tilani’s praise and questions.

All of perhaps two minutes felt like a lifetime. Maevaris had to tug at her to get her moving again with her father but she still couldn’t hear them as they passed through the crowd. She became aware as they stopped near an alcove only to wrench her arm from the woman’s grasp. Accusation gleamed from damp eyes as they met the Tilani’s. “How dare you. I knew this was some sort of plot. How… how could you? You’ll ruin him and what… is this a punishment for something? Is this the end of a joke that has been building for two decades where you’ve pretended to be a friend and mentor only to yank the rug out from under me and laugh as I fall on my ass in front of the whole Magisterium and take him down with me?”

Once the rage had broken through, she couldn’t make it stop. Her entire life she had pushed it back, reminded herself that someone else would handle it. That she wouldn’t have to see the aggressor again. She’d never allowed herself to get swept away by the anger as she did now. This was intolerable, she didn’t care a fig if they owned her or not.

Maevaris was the one who stemmed her tirade with a hand over her mouth. “If you keep raising your voice you’ll only draw more attention to it. No one has noticed thus far and Halward is wise enough to keep his distance.”

“His son has.” The words were biting but measured. “It doesn’t matter if he’s wise enough. It’s still bloody torture. Neither of us have done anything to deserve this.”

This time Athanir scoffed, smiling faintly, “Dorian won’t say anything. He might argue with his father in private about it but that’s it. The boy has his own troubles without unleashing more by declaring his father to the court.”

“This isn’t meant to be torture. You both needed a reminder before being alone wore you out too much more. He’s been wilting lately under the pressure between court, his harpy of a wife, and Dorian’s scandals.” Maevaris shrugged slightly, glancing lazily across the floor to see where everyone was.

Clarisse shook her head with a disgusted look on her face, “Well congratulations on your good intentions. Attend yourselves, I’m going to wait outside.” The actual surprise on their faces when she deliberately ignored her role in their household and walked away gave her a brief stab of revenge.

It wasn’t fair. Part of her wanted to walk all the way back to the Tilani mansion. The cold bite of the air gave her pause and cooled her temper, however. The loss of the heat in her chest was felt twofold as it allowed the bitter sadness to creep back in. Her lips trembled as she wrapped her arms around herself and sank to sit on the stone walkway outside of the front doors. Her forehead came to a rest upon her knees.

Part of her had known and the dread had left her ill but nothing would have prepared her for seeing him again. Of the list of potentials, it had never occurred to her that seeing him was a possibility. Five years without a sight of him had eased the pain and allowed her to move on… for the most part.

Not enough if being this close and so separated destroyed her so.

“You shouldn’t be out here without a jacket.”

“Go away. If anyone sees you talking to a slave…”

“I might sound like him, but I assure you I am not my father. We can simply say you were turning down my advances, everyone but he would believe you.” A lilt of amusement changed the voice slightly and her head shot up in dismay as Dorian settled himself on the ground next to her.

“Oh, wipe that look off your face. Your secret is safe with me. I suppose it makes more sense to me now when he says to keep the scandal hidden away. No wonder he’s so miserable.”

“Altus Pavus, I…”

The man smirked, shaking his head and holding up a hand to stop her. “Do you need a ride somewhere? Or are you going to sit out here in the cold for several hours? I won’t blame you for either, or you can hold your head high and walk back in there and not let any of their whispers sink their nasty little claws into you.”

Clarisse let her head fall again, thinking deeply as the wind brushed past the quiet pair. Lifting her head, she gave the man a tired smile. “I’ll come back in momentarily, Altus Pavus. I just need to shake everything off.”

“There’s the spirit. Call me Dorian, will you? You’re practically my step-mother.” He patted her shoulder and then rose, dusting himself off as she choked slightly on his wording. Before she could recover, he was gone. A slave couldn’t call an Altus by his first name, even one apparently so at ease with causing scandal. Step-mother… of all the things.

She would have to apologise to Magister Tilani and Maevaris. They had been wrong but she shouldn’t have snapped at the pair in public. Instead, she should have maintained her composure and spoken to them about it later. Sighing, she picked herself up from the stones and turned toward the house.

Only quick hands kept her from jumping back into the road as she gasped in surprise, her hands flying to her face. Warm fingers pulled her closer to safety where they grasped her wrists before releasing her and a familiar arm encircled her back to direct her towards an ornate stone bench. It was cold to sit on but that gave her something else to focus upon until he spoke.

“Clarisse. You haven’t changed a bit.”

The soft voice made her shoulders slump as she met his glorious brown eyes. “You shouldn’t have come out here.” She couldn’t say his name. He was Marius but he was also someone else and the clash made her head hurt with it so obvious before her now.

He shook his head light fingers touching her cheek, “You’re cold. You have been outside for quite some time. Maker, you really haven’t changed. How He hasn’t turned His eye to you I have no understanding, but I am glad He hasn’t stolen you away from me.”

Something choked her throat again and she closed her eyes tightly, “We can’t… You can’t say things like that to me. Not here. Not now. Your son has already figured it out, am-amatus.” It physically hurt in her chest to say the word. A word she had kept secretly in her heart for years without speaking.

His head fell forward slightly, a pained frown crossing his features that creased well-worn lines at the corners of his mouth. “I… am sorry, Clarisse. I missed you. So much.”

“And I you… but if we let this happen now, if we acknowledge this connection, it will be so much harder to let it go again. You said it could end like the best of dreams… you remember them but you can’t ever go back. Maybe when we’re older. Maybe then, if you’re here and she isn’t and your son has taken your seat in the Magisterium. But it can’t be right now.” The words were strained as he rested his forehead against hers like they once used to so casually, when joy had come so easily.

Her amatus responded slowly, considering his words carefully. “You would… leave that as an option?”

Caution flared and she shook her head, “Not if it’s forced. You’re above that, amatus. Maybe it would go unquestioned by Imperial or Orlesian standards but we’re above that. If it means enough to us, we can wait. If that happens thought…” The fire in her face dimmed and her eyes fell to his hand on her knee. “You know I’d return in a heartbeat.”

The man sat with her a moment longer and then sighed quietly. “You should go inside first. I’ll take another entrance so I can say I came from another area of the house. Perhaps the gardens. Clarisse…”

A warm hand stopped her with the softest grasp of her own, “I pray the Maker allows it. I pray he doesn’t recognise what he has made in you and take you away from me. I’ll wait as long as it takes. I love you, amatus.”

Clarisse fought a smile and tears both, the effort making her jaw tremble, “I love you as well, amatus. Be careful, be safe.”

Inside, she rubbed her hands over her arms and slowly sought out Maevaris without a glance in Dorian’s direction. She was still reeling over his step-mother quip. Maevaris watched her in concern but neither of them spoke for now and the woman seemed to accept it.

Over the course of the party, the tension between the women subsided and Maevaris felt comfortable enough to wander over to her father to converse quietly.

**9:32 Dragon; Minrathous**

No one would ever know. Bitter and cold, Maevaris and Clarisse had swept through the house staff, unburdening themselves from anyone not proven to be loyal. Those left would die for Maevaris Tilani and would not be bought.

No one would ever know how Maevaris had sobbed brokenly and refused food. How she had clung to Clarisse in desperation, demanding a silent and uncaring altar in the servants’ quarters answer why her power had not been enough.

Athanir Tilani had been betrayed one last time by his kind hard and untrustworthy allies. The plan had been ruined, Templars had come and he had quietly departed without a fight. He had believed entirely that he could talk his way out of this, come to some sort of agreement. They had slaughtered him without mercy.

Maevaris only allowed herself that one day to truly mourn but all who knew her could tell that the loss had unleashed the calculated politician she had avoided being in case it upset her father. The side that gave no quarter and took blood for recompense.

No one would ever know, until she was already there, that they were dead as she climbed her way up the chain of those who had caused Athanir’s death and took them all.

**9:35 Dragon; Minrathous**

It had taken nearly three years of fighting but Clarisse could see the light return to Maevaris’ eyes for the first time since her father’s murder. In one final action, she had solidified her seat on the Magisterium after fighting the Magister cowards who had been terrified of her drastic response to Athanir’s death. She had proved that she would not be moulded, not be as docile and forgiving as her father. Instead she would be demanding and powerful, in control. Respect would be given as she had bloody well earned it.

Maevaris had worried that Athanir would not like seeing her this way. Clarisse knew in her heart, however, that the man would be as overwhelmingly proud as she was now, watching the woman she had helped raise walk hand in hand with Thorold Tethras of the Ambassadoria.  

She had promised her hand to the dwarf as soon as she knew she was stable, but Clarisse had experienced the growth of their relationship since the day they had met. Affectionate and casual. Perhaps as she had once had herself, though lately she spent so much of her time at Maevaris’ side that it was getting easier to push the memories back.

Never forget, however.

In fact, she kept up on the family’s news through Maevaris now that she knew who her Marius was. Dorian had thrown all his time and effort into aiding his tutor, Magister Alexius. The man apparently was good for him, challenging his learning and preventing him from drowning himself in scandal by keeping him busy. As she had learned, however, not all good things lasted and Gereon Alexius’ family had been ambushed by darkspawn. The tragedy had rocked the community, his wife dead and his son corrupted by the taint. A cynical voice in her mind warned her that Dorian would burn out as Magister Alexius descended the slope he was on.

Rumour had reached Maevaris, as well, that Ferelden had recently fallen to a Blight. Not many believed that since it had apparently lasted less than a year. Darkspawn incursions happened with semi-regularity and society in general assumed it must have simply been several them. Backwater, ignorant peasants panicked over the most ludicrous things, after all. None could deny the more recent Qunari attack on Kirkwall and the death of its Viscount. They balked at the Templar control of the city-state in the Free Marches and gossiped about the new Divine Justinia V and her seeming support of mages. The tension was likely to be juicy as Tevinter settled in to watch with glee.

But, Maevaris was safe. None of those things could reach them here. She was happy with Thorold. Clarisse enjoyed it while she could, dreading the day when it all fell apart.

**9:37 Dragon; Qarinus**

It fell apart too soon.

Dorian had given up on the maddened Magister Alexius, though somehow Felix was still alive despite his illness. The boy had torn off across Tevinter drinking himself sick and indulging himself in anything else that caught his attention until his parents had to arrest him to drag him home. She pictured Halward Pavus with some more grey now, but she could still imagine the pain that would be on his face at having to go to such lengths.

Kirkwall had legitimately exploded. First the Chantry with all inside, then the city itself. Barely recovered from the Qunari, it was razed and sundered as mage and Templar warred in its streets and on its waters. Across most of Thedas other mages began to rebel, encouraged by or maybe in collusion with the Gallows Tower. One woman was said to have put down both the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter in Kirkwall before fleeing but no one could yet confirm such a wild tale, let alone that it was the same woman who had supposedly defeated the Arishok in single combat. Still, the tales were adored by Tevinter, especially the ones about the Qunari assault.

Tevinter held its breath as the mages made their demands of respect from the Chantry and its Circles… and made their threats as well.

Clarisse held her breath as she carried the collapsed Maevaris to her room out of sight.

Thorold Tethras had fallen to his death. Templars ruled it accidental but the wheels were turning in Maevaris Tilani’s head before she had finished weeping. Slow, glacial frost returned to her gaze. With their combined contacts in the Ambassadoria and own in the Magisterium, it wasn’t long before more deaths were made. Perhaps they had been involved, but perhaps they had simply been to make a point.

They should have learned their lesson and left her alone.

**9:44 Dragon; Qarinus**

The years had grown quiet for a long time, the Tilani household continuing to operate under the guiding hand of its Magister. Only the most loyal of her servants witnessed the occasional bouts of loneliness the woman suffered. They had grown shorter and farther between as she had aged and delved deeply into the corrupted Magisterium.

Everything got exciting again rather quickly when Maevaris had stumbled upon the Venatori. The way she had explained it to Clarisse, they were an insane cultist movement with aspirations to return Tevinter to its Imperial height. At first, she had considered them annoying glory mongers but they had discovered her questioning and attempted with near success to use their holding in the Magisterium to oust her.

Only then had she realised the weight they wielded.

Orlais fell into Civil War along with all Thedas as well. Mages and Templars warred fully across Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches, though Navarra, Rivain, and Antiva were not unaffected. Only the Anderfels seemed to shrug it off, likely because they were isolated and desolate. Tevinter was out of reach and had no Circles like the rest of Thedas, though the Venatori were an increasing presence. Nothing phased Par Vollen or Seheron either, though there was no doubt they watched and waited.

Then, three years ago, the Conclave ordered by Divine Justinia V to end the war between Mage and Templar was utterly destroyed and the sky ripped apart by the Fade. The stories chilled the bones but it was impossible to see from so far. Tales spread of green rents appearing and disappearing in Tevinter lands but no one seemed able to verify them.

A second Inquisition forced itself into existence in defiance of the Chantry’s shock, proceeding to finally end the Mage and Templar War by waltzing into the Venatori stronghold at Redcliffe led by none other than Magister Gereon Alexius and retaking control of the free mages. Maevaris had balked at the reports but it had not surprised Clarisse much at all. The man would have done or destroyed anything to save his son and, while she would not condone his actions, she could sympathise.

Perhaps even more startling was that Dorian Pavus had resurfaced after running from his family’s tight control. He took up with the Inquisition against Alexius and the Venatori. Desperate to regain her footing with the Venatori chipping away at her power, she reached out to her old friend. The response had been fantastic as the Inquisition’s spies answered Dorian’s every request and helped in any way they could at such distance.

A year later, all their efforts had paid off. The Inquisition had won, apparently defeating what had once been a Magister of Ancient Tevinter. Maevaris had taken two days to speak again after they had realised that a Magister who had served Dumat and had become a powerful Darkspawn could only lend truth and relevance to the discarded Chantry legends. When she had re-settled herself, determination had been written into every line of her body. Maevaris would no longer stand for the arrogant, wilful fraud throughout the body of the Magisterium. She would start there and work her way down until Tevinter was saved from itself.

Upon his return, Dorian Pavus had also thrown in with her. Aside from being lifelong friends they bonded over their scandalous backgrounds and righteous disgust over Tevinter’s fall into petty villainy.

Two years later, Dorian had returned to Ferelden and Orlais to watch closely the once more rising tensions. Maevaris had smirked as she had informed Clarisse that she held little doubt he had jumped at the chance to see his beloved Inquisitor again. Not many knew of the connection, but working so closely with Maevaris he had not been able to hide it.

Even Clarisse’s heart had warmed whenever he spoke of the man, his entire face lighting with enthusiasm and adoration. Though… she had tried her best to avoid him for he had not forgotten to constantly make quips about her affair with his father.

Sometimes she could not escape him entirely, and today was apparently not one of those days.

“It’s sort of difficult to keep up this hide and seek if you stay in one spot so predictably, my dear. I hear you’ve been holed up in here for weeks. I came back as soon as I could.” A soft knock rapped for the third time in nearly five minutes. “Clarisse, open the blasted door or I’ll blow it apart. Enough is enough.” His voice changed, growing so stern that briefly she considered he might go through on his warning.

It took a heavy sigh and a painfully slow moment with her eyes closed to gather the energy to sit up. The room swam and her throat burned as she did so but she could no longer tell if it was from tears or a lack of water or food. Maevaris had forced her way in and demanded she eat and drink at least once a day but none of her comfort had consoled the Tilani slave.

Dorian said something else but Clarisse forced herself to stand shakily and made her way to the door with dragging footsteps. Brilliantly made shoes met her exhausted gaze as she tugged it partially open but the man would have none of it. Before she could say a word, he had pushed it all the way open and swept her into a hug so tight her sore chest creaked. Without a care, her hands balled into the fabric covering his shoulder blades and a weak sound squeaked out.

Grim faced and concerned, he shook his head and lifted her to his chest. Settling himself on the ratty bed she had not left since she had heard, he held her on his lap with his chin resting on her hair and stared with angry, glistening eyes at the wall as he rocked her and she dissolved into broken sobs.

“You haven’t seen him since that party have you?” He murmured quietly almost an hour later. The woman was barely conscious in his hold. “Now he’s gone. I’m sorry. I wish you could have seen him one last time.”

“You’re sorry? He’s your father.” The words were slurred, choked with emotion so they were barely understandable. The face was drawn and despairing but the eyes were hardly even human anymore they held so much pain.

“Well, then it goes without saying I could never have with him what you had, Clarisse. Don’t worry if you can’t laugh at that now, it’s a good enough joke I’ll remind you once you get a sense of humour back.” A low sigh ruffled her hair as Dorian wrapped his arms around her a bit more steadily.

Clarisse closed her eyes because it simply hurt to keep them open longer, her head pounding enough that she didn’t struggle and let it rest against his chest. “Why are you here, Dorian?”

A faint smile flickered across his face, one hand rubbing her shoulder idly. “You used my name, how odd. The thing is, there aren’t many places I can go where I can just be upset about this whole situation. Maker knows my mother is hardly sympathetic.” The smile widened to a grin as he felt her twitch in aggravation, “Somehow I knew that would wake you back up.” They sat in a slightly more comfortable quiet for a while, though a gut feeling told her Maevaris was hovering nearby to see if Dorian stood a better chance of getting through her haze.

Finally, she tried to sit up straighter and Dorian allowed her to shift her weight. Sitting next to him instead of on his lap, she leaned over her knees and held her face in her hands. “I’ve never met the woman but I’ve always hated her. I just never let myself feel it until now. I don’t want any of this to be real. He can’t…”

Dorian wrapped his arm around her back again, leaning her frame till her head rested on his shoulder, “He is. He’s dead. Maevaris is good at finding things out, we’ll know soon who killed him and we’ll just kill them back. We’re good at that. Then we’re going to fix this blasted place if it’s the last thing we do. There’s going to be resistance, of course, but those people and the people who killed my father are likely one and the same. Should make things a bit simpler, wouldn’t you say?”

Swallowing was hard with the lump in her throat, “I think I remember Maevaris mentioning… Lucerni? What is that exactly?”

“Aha, the Lucerni is a who. Myself, Maevaris, and a collection of other Magisters from houses who have less power in the Magisterium mostly because of their moral compasses have banded together. The end goal is to stop the fools and criminals in the Magisterium and redistribute the balance of power. Get them away from blood magic and such. You know, the power grabbing and influence mongering that got us in all this trouble in the first place.” He shrugged casually, careful to only move the shoulder she was not laying against. “It should be good fun.”

His cavalier tone made her frown deepen slightly, though weariness prevented her disapproval for showing any other way. “Or it could get you all brutally killed and then I lose everything and get sold to someone else.”

The Pavus heir laughed lightly at that, “Of course we haven’t ruled that possibility out but we have resources the Magisterium can’t possibly hope to match. And I have a very devoted Inquisitor. Also, you can’t be sold, Clarisse. You are not a slave anymore. He sent me a letter, likely the day or so before his killing once he was sure it would happen, dictating in the fanciest verbiage that House Pavus work with House Tilani to purchase and secure your freedom as his last request to me personally. You’re a citizen now, well done.”

Clarisse lifted her head to stare at him wide eyed, her face somehow even more pale than before. She swallowed hard as she stared at the ground, a single tear sliding down her face. “I can’t tell if I’m just out of tears or if I’m in too much pain to keep crying. Blight take it all, what am I supposed to do with that? I’m forty-seven, I haven’t been free in… thirty-four years. What if I didn’t want it without him?”

A weak chuckle responded to her confusion, “We don’t have many options now, sadly. You could turn it down, I suppose, but if anything does happen to us because of our efforts… saying you were once given the option of freedom won’t prevent them from doing whatever they bloody well want.”

She shook her head and pain creased her face again as she felt her headache stab deeply again, pressing cold fingers to her temples briefly. “No. I could never turn away anything he gave.”

“So? What do you intend to do?” One fine eyebrow arched in question as his head tilted, piercing eyes watching her. Even if they hadn’t gotten along well or shared much, they both seemed to have a weakness for the forbidden and they had the same eyes that were so sharp they could look right through you. It made her smile faintly.

“I don’t know. You and Maevaris are the only people I know. Does the Lucerni need help? I could stay on as a servant or… perhaps a friend? I could help however I can.” Suddenly feeling a bit awkward, she glanced up hesitantly but he was still smiling.

His shoulder nudged hers, “I’ve found you can never have enough of those, Maevaris and I would be delighted to have you stay. I’m sure she feels rather alone without you as well. Now, real business, we need to get you cleaned up. The funeral is in three hours and you will be there. I’ve already fought my mother on it. Up, up. This is going to take a lot of work for me and Maevaris, you’ve really made a wreck of yourself, Clarisse.”

The shock made neck ache and she was frozen as he stood, taking her hands to pull her up, “I think my heart is going to just fail if things like this keep happening.”

Dorian smiled and wrapped her in another hug, not as tight now that he wasn’t forcing her to let him into her room. “You’ll be fine. You have Maevaris and you have me. No one will dare with us there. He would want you to be there. If anyone in the world has more right than another, it would be you since you were the only person to ever love him completely and unconditionally. Come on, step-mother.”

Clarisse cringed as he led her out of the room, “Maker preserve… don’t call me that at his funeral, Dorian.”

Maevaris joined his laughter and reached out to squeeze her hand in relief and affection before the trio headed up the stairs towards Maevaris’ rooms.


End file.
